Rise
by Kokoro-and-Rei
Summary: [DH Spoilers, Oneshot] Caught between the pain of remembering, and the release of moving on. A single name, one syllable. A brother lost.  It's time to rise. R&R!


**a/n: i don't own anything. DH spoilers.**

** -- i changed a few things! after reading through i wasn't happy. and this is my favorite piece of writing that i've done so far, so i wanted to really be satisfied with it. just so you know, if you're reading through and you notice something different ;) R&R!**

_Rise_

The grass is shining, specks of water glittering as the sun peaks over the horizon. Orange and yellow flood the air, the feeling of warm. The feeling of starting over.

Numb. That's what I feel.

I can feel the humidity. The thick, wet morning breeze. My hair I know is frizzing, as I mess with a tiny strand, curling it repetitively between my fingers. I'm staring, trying to find anything to catch my interest. I'm finding nothing.

There's too much silence in the mornings. So much that it almost deafens you. I can't hear a thing it's pressing into me so much… I feel another headache starting. They've become routine as of lately.

My fingers release the battered strand of hair and press against the temples of my forehead. This futile attempt to ease the dull pounding ache never works, as would be expected… But it's something to do. Something to worry about other than the present.

_Brilliant really,_ I'm thinking suddenly, violently,_ that everyone is finally celebrating. And I can't feel a thing. _Which is true. Actually, in a way, I feel everything. More thoughts blaze into my mind. _Seems like more things were broken than the one fixed._ And I know I'm being ridiculous.

I shake my head and press my fingers harder into my temples. I can hear the pounding now, it's so insistent. As if from the inside of my head, unrelenting. It hurts, and that's okay. This pain, at least, I'm able to cope with.

The silence is beginning to fade, as I hear doors open and close from the inside of the house. Mum's awake; I can hear her shuffling towards the kitchen. She's been cooking more than usual lately. We've all been doing something more than usual lately. Maybe it's just an excuse to do something at all, besides think.

Actually I know that's what it is.

Yet I suspect that everyone finds time like this, that I'm finding now. Time when they can't sleep or find anything else at all to do… and they surrender and they think.

I haven't slept much lately. The circles under my eyes are deeper, darker. George has the same circles, but I know he sleeps. George was never the early riser of the two.

I wonder if anyone else could have told you that?

Percy is in the kitchen, mumbling something to Mum. I know it's about me.

"She hasn't spoken to me still, Mum, I'm not sure what else to do."

"You'll have to give her time Percy, more time. It's all we _can_ do."

The guilt settles in my stomach, and I muffle the rest of their conversation with my own thoughts. I haven't spoken to Percy in exactly seventeen days. I'm not proud, it's just a fact.

After all was said and done, we returned to the house. I think George was the loudest at first, always talking, still cracking jokes. His eyes were duller, missing something. But he didn't want to seem lost. I tried so hard to laugh, for the first few days. I would fake one, or muster up something suitable.

I was the only one who ever did try.

Ron's just been quiet, not speaking. I don't think he's said a word to anyone since we came back home. Harry sleeps in his room, but at night I can tell they lay in a stony silence.

Percy's been nervous, not really silent but definitely not chatty. He acts as if it were all his fault. I think maybe that makes it easier for me to blame him.

George sleeps a lot now, and doesn't bother acting happy anymore. I wish he could go back to how he was the first few days, telling stupid jokes and ignoring the obvious. That was better than knowing deep down, and trying to push the hurt away.

Harry and I talk a lot. There's a lot of time now, with the summer stretched out ahead of us, and school seeming so far in the future. For me at least. For Harry, even that's something he needs not worry about.

I get up when I smell bacon burning, and quickly pick it off the stove and settle it on the many lined-up plates.

"Oh, Ginny thank you! I run upstairs to wake George up and he's cleaning out their, the room. I ended up slipping –" Mum doesn't continue, but just shakes her head and continues cooking.

My feet guide me, and I find myself at the doorway of their room. I'm staring at crumpled up "U-NO-POO" signs, and nosebleed nuggets, strewn across the floor.

"Those were my favorite." I say.

George looks up, and for a moment I think he's… _him_. A cruel trick of the mind, cruel to George – though I'd never tell him that that's the reason for my cringing.

He gives half a smile and replies, "The nosebleed nuggets?"

"Yeah, I carried them with me actually, got me out of Potions a lot in my fifth year."

George's eyes went blank, as if in feigned sightlessness. I could tell what he was thinking. That that year seemed so incredibly far away, so lost in time and as if it had never been anything but a nice dream.

"How long have you been awake?" He said suddenly.

"I never slept." Came the easy reply.

He nodded and I stare at him for a moment. Crouched on the floor, box in hand, stuffing papers and memories into it, trying to forget.

"You know it won't help." I say, walking over the junk and sitting next to him.

"I know." He says back. I can see desperation in his eyes, a plea for anything to have stayed normal.

Yet nothing did. My mind flashes back and I'm seeing Tonks' and Lupin's bodies, and I'm thinking of Teddy. How his parents and grandpa have all died, and how he'll grow up not knowing the bubbly clumsiness of his mother, or the warm heart of his father.

The image of Colin Creevey's body and of Harry's eyes when he told us Hedwig had died. Moody's proud bravery and how he would have loved to hear people talk about how he died. How he was such a hero, how fearless he was. This is all true.

Snape I cannot feel bad for. Harry has tried again and again to explain, and yet I don't care. Harry won't ever know the pain of Snape being a headmaster, of having to hurt my own classmates in his damned Dark Arts classes.

This is what war has left me with.

Pain, and a bitter unforgiving heart.

"Gin?" George was shoving the last of the posters in the box, "Gin can you hand me that paper and those Canary Creams?"

I blink, and hand them over to him.

"It should've been Percy." I whisper, almost hissing, my voice is choked suddenly.

"What?!" George's eyes are wide, and he drops the remaining U-NO-POO poster.

Instantly I regret saying it, yet I don't feel different about what I've just said. "It shouldn't have been..." I choke out, and I'm still not crying. I feel like I'm going to puke.

George doesn't hate me for it. He nods, he understands. My head pounds so loud I can't hear him speak, and the pain becomes too much to bear. I stand to leave, and he grabs my arm. He's still talking. I still can't hear.

My mind swerves, and the room turns black.

I'm coming back, and the first thing I feel is a hand in mine. It's Harry, by the calluses and the way it's stroking my palm.

"It hurts." I say.

"I know." He replies, and I look at him, and I see my own pain, too, in his eyes.

For a long few moments we stared at each other. My eyes find the window, and I realize two things. I'm in my room, and Hermione must be back from fixing her parents memories, because her bags are on the floor. Also, the light is coming in so brightly that it must be after noon, for sure.

"How long have I slept?" I ask.

"Three days."

I nod. I don't act as surprised as I am, because I only suspected a few hours. But it doesn't seem as if I've really lost precious time. I look at him again.

"When Sirius died…" He says, his voice sounding as if this hurts him. And I realize then that it does, that it still hurts him to talk about it, - like it hurts me even to think about it.

"I missed him so much I couldn't cry. I would think about him, every conversation we had. Every conversation we could've had. I think even now of where I'd be had he lived. I mean hell, I can wonder where I would be if my parents would've lived. It'd be bloody ridiculous – but that's the thing." His voice was pained. "I had a chance with Sirius, I had a real chance. When he died, it was worse than anything I've ever felt."

And I understand him. I understand that even when Dumbledore died, even when Cedric was killed right in front of him that it didn't hurt like Sirius. Just like nothing had ever hurt like this, for me.

"I loved Dumbledore." He says, "But it was different. I really loved Sirius. Really believed maybe I was lucky, maybe I was getting a chance to have a … kind of a dad, you know?"

I realize then that his pain is still fresh. Albeit long-forgotten by others, I knew then that faces and memories flashed in his mind every day, more often than you would think. I saw it then, in the green eyes that, filled with pain, stared so fiercely into my own.

My own pain, mirrored right back at me… as if

"I wish people would say his name." I say, off topic.

"They will, sometime." He replies, sounding sure.

I'm glad he sounds sure.

Somehow, I keep awake long enough to realize how hungry I am. Harry takes me downstairs, and everyone's staring at me. I act normal, and greet Hermione. Ron sits beside me and squeezes my leg.

Minutes into dinner, no one has said anything. Ron asks George to pass him some potatoes, and the silence continues. Suddenly, beside me, Ron begins to shake.

His mouth opens, and his tongue comes out, swelling before our eyes. Tongue Toffee. I glance at George, who has a hint of the sparkle I used to know. I feel a smile begin, and Ron screams and spits.

Mum goes off, and starts to scream. "HOW CAN YOU THINK, WHEN," Her words are chopped, and she's getting red-faced and flustered. "FRED-" She stops cold.

My heart lifts, and the pounding in my head stops.

Fred. My brother.

George points to the empty space where his ear should be, and smiles crookedly, "George!" He corrects.

And I'm laughing so hard I can't hold it in, falling off of my chair.

Fred. Finally, someone said it.

In the middle of my laughter I feel warm tears on my cheeks. I realize only then that I'm crying too. Harry bends down to pick me up, but I look towards Percy, who has a worried expression on his face. I look into his eyes, and I see the pain. He hurts too.

Dad is glaring at George, yet a smile is playing on his lips, as he holds Ron down and tries to get his tongue back to normal.

"Percy." I say suddenly, struggling to stand. He helps me up and I fling myself at him. "I'm sorry." I repeat this in a whisper, my guilt overwhelming me, my senses failing. I shake my head into his chest, and I continue apologizing.

I'm free all of the sudden, light and free. My cheeks are wet, my heart is lighter. It's the first time I've cried since… then. I've forgiven. Maybe one day, I'll even get around to saying his name myself. Until then, I'm getting better. Taking it one day at a time, just like everyone else.

Percy embraces me, and hugs me tighter. "It's okay, Gin."

I catch a sight of the window from over Percy's shoulder, and the sun is setting. Tomorrow, I'll probably be awake, sitting downstairs, watching it rise. Just like I usually am. I'll walk past Fre- I mean… George's room, and I'll be content watching the sun come up on a new day. We need those new days, or I'd be stuck in the past, stuck in the pain.

I think I'm ready to rise too.

I think we're all rising.


End file.
